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Aria continues to practice on her violin, sawing the strings in slow, sad measures. She lies in the shade of a tree on the edge of the green, eyes closed, one foot up on the other. Just a short distance away, Minar sits in the dirt and listens, watching the villagers go about their business and share the news of the dragon's defeat. A few point at the pair, holding excited, whispered conversations or even waving, which Minar ignores. "The A string could use replacing," he suggests. Aria stops, lets out a huff, and sits up. "Are you mad about the dragon thing?" "No," he says, a little quickly. "It could've burned us alive." "Urk still had the frost rune," she replies, with a dismissive wave. "Bitten us in half?" Minar turns around. "Stepped on us? Flattened us with its tail?" "Well, she didn't." The two of them sit in glum silence for a minute. Minar picks at a hole singed through his tunic. "Do you need any more arrows? I'm almost out again." Aria sighs, lying back down. "No, I'm good." "Those arrows Theodore makes are overpriced for what you get," he mutters. Then his head tilts up. "Do you hear that?" The two adventurers sit up and follow the sound to the far end of the field. A group of traveling musicians have set themselves up on the village green, playing music and singing to passersby. There are four of them, including a purple-clad elf of ambiguous gender and three women with their hair tied back by blue ribbons: two humans and an orc. The elf sings while strumming a lute, and the three women sing backup with close harmonies while playing drums, bowed Lorimor lyra, and harp. Most of the villagers seem to be ignoring the troubadours, but a few drop coins in the hat lying before them, and some even stop to dance and sing along. Aria has perform Aria joins her violin with the troubadours and finds their fast-faced and unusual style difficult to blend. The elf wanders over toward her and directs her attention to their fingers during the bridge. It seems this group's style includes a hitch in the rhythm, which makes even their traditional songs feel fresh and new. It takes Aria a bit to incorporate the trick into her own performance, but before long she's playing as if she's always been part of the band. Minar leans nearby, nodding along, a slow smile spreading across his face as he listens to the tune. After finishing a frentic and humorous version of "Harvesthorn's Autumn Maids," the elf hands her a jug of wellwater, and the band takes a brief break. "You learned our trick quickly," says the elf. "That is the highest sort of praise from the Princeling," says the older of the human women, her large brown eyes crinkling with her smile. "My sisters and I have seen five of the Free Cities with him before he felt that we were 'competent.'" "I have high standards, says the Princeling. "I admit it. But Lin, you and your sisters are divine. Together, we are something new. The Princeling and the Anders Sisters," he says to Aria. "Tell your friends." "I'm adopted," volunteers the orc with the Lorimor lyra. She holds her ear next to the instrument as she tunes it. "It's not a big deal." "Cool," says Aria, taking a gulp from the wellwater. Minar dusts himself off. "Are you guys planning on sticking around long?" "Just for tonight," says the Princeling with a smirk, appraising Minar. "We play here on the green, and then this evening I have arranged to play the Drunken Hog. Which I admit is not a particularly auspicious name, but I hope it will all be well." "Oh the Hog's something all right," says Aria with a hint of cheek. "However bad it is, we've played worse," says Lin. "And like you said, it's only for the night. Come the morning we move on, and we'll likely never see this village again." "That's a shame, really," says the third sister. "I almost like this town." The orc sister shrugs. "That's the life we chose, ladies. You'd be bored of this place in a week, anyway, Mei." Minar snorts. "I can confirm that." "Maybe we'll see you at the Hog, then," says Aria as she packs her violin back up. "Good luck with the busking!" The pair wander away from the green, as the small band's music starts up again behind them. Minar steals a sideways glance to Aria, who has a quiet smile. "Thinking about getting back on the road?" "We still need to wrap up the Kyric thing for Celyse," she says. "But... yeah. I think it's about time." She waves back to a knot of villagers who recognize them standing near the shops. "We're getting too famous around here, anyway." Time passes  A) Cool your heels at the Countess Inn and try some the finer vintages B) Head to the Fairfax Manor to confer with Celyse C) Take a little break at the Bakery
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Jun 29, 2018 00:11
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C, Let's visit the bakery. Perhaps the little girl will like to see what the shell's become.
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Jun 29, 2018 10:21
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The dwarf baker Grisbeck hums to himself as he carries fresh loaves of bread from the kitchen out to the shelves that line the shop. His daughter Penny lies on top of a table, dangling a string to brush along the flagged stones of the shop's floor. A calico cat lurks beneath the table, periodically lunging at the string. When it sees Urk, the cat rumbles a tiny growl, then sprints out of the room with all its hair standing on end. Urk grins to Penny. "URK HAVE THAT EFFECT SOMETIMES." "Ah, there ye be," says Grisbeck, smiling. "Sit, sit," he says, gesturing at the table Penny is still lying on. "Penny, lass, get off o' there an' wipe that table down, please." She does so, then uses the rag to mop at her brow. "It's too hot ta play," she sighs, flopping down in a corner of the shop. "URK DEFEATED DRAGON," Urk remarks as she takes her seat. "IT NO BIG DEAL, URK USE ANCIENT FROST MAGIC FROM UNDEAD TOMB." Penny marvels at the orc sage as her father moves back toward the kitchen. "Ye defeated a real dragon, all by yerself?" "NO," Urk admits. "URK'S FRIENDS WERE THERE. BUT PROBABLY LIKE... ONE THIRD OF WORK, URK THINKS. WHICH IS PRETTY GOOD." Grisbeck returns from the kitchen with a small dish, holding a delicate biscuit of oats and sweet smells that steams slightly from the oven. "I made ye this," says Grisbeck. "It's a bit different from mainly what I sell here in me shop; a traditional Dunwarr dish. A soda cake." He sets it down in front of Urk and sits, tugging at his beard absently, while she eagerly digs in. "I wanted ta say, ye've been so good ta me an' Penny since ye came here. Ye've done quite a bit ta make us both happy. Quite a bit a good fer Dragonholt, too," he adds, nodding toward the east. "ALL IN DAY'S WORK FOR URK," she replies. Urk takes a casual posture, at ease in the little shop. Grisbeck seems to be working himself up for a moment before he continues. "Well, I was wonderin' if - I wanted ta invite ye ta join me for a walk this evenin'. After sunset. From the dragon statues, out inta the orchard." Urk freezes, the soda cake caught between her sharp teeth and her eyes wide with surprise. She begins chewing slowly, buying time. A) Accept Grisbeck's invitation B) Politely decline his invitation.(I've been more than a bit off today so thanks for your patience, feel free to take your time on this one if you like - it may be a bit of a surprise, but this is one case where I'll say we're following the book)
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Jun 30, 2018 04:53
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Obviously yes, who wouldn't want to see where this is going?
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Jun 30, 2018 05:21
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Yeah, we should obviously Accept the invitation.
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Jun 30, 2018 08:17
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Urk finally swallows her mouthful of oats, eyeing Grisbeck carefully. She clears her throat. "UM," she begins, glancing over to Penny, who's doing her best to appear distracted. "URK MIGHT LIKE THAT ACTUALLY." A smile spreads across Grisbeck's features. "Oh, good, ah, that's brilliant," says Grisbeck, smoothing out his beard with one hand. He stays and keeps Urk company as she finishes off the soda bread, which is sweet and a little tangy and quite an intriguing morsel, grinning and not saying much of anything. As Urk is saying her goodbyes to him and Penny, Grisbeck points to the west. "And don't forget. Tonight. At th' dragon statues. I'll see ye there." Time passes A) Ease into the evening at the Countess Inn B) Confer with Celyse at the Fairfax Manor C) Get out some restless energy training at the Guard Station
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Jun 30, 2018 17:47
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We're only one step away from completing combat training, let's go murder the hell out of some straw dummies or something.
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Jun 30, 2018 18:58
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The guard house door stands open, revealing a spare room with a crude desk and a large iron bell. A black iron cage covers the entire back wall, its gate secured with a heavy lock. Swords, poleaxes, coats of mail, and various other armaments glimmer in the shadows of the cage. The lantern-jawed guard with more good looks than, well, really, anything else, Deakon, is admiring his reflection in the blade of his sword. "Oh," he says, noticing Deepmind. "Hello. Can I help you?" Deepmind gives the handsome human a doubtful look, but says "Maybe. Think you can give me access to that training ground you've got? I want to work off some energy." "You're one of those adventurers who rode off to fight the dragon this morning, right?" "Yup." Deakon seems puzzled, trying to square the unassuming hyrrinx with the tall tale of dragon-battle. "Wellll... I suppose it's the least we can do, considering all the help you've given us." "Yup." He leads Deepmind around to the back of the guard station, where the racks of training weapons sit across from the dummies. The whole affair is rough but serviceable, a standard Deakon himself doesn't quite live up to. "Do you need a sparring partner by any chance?" he suggests brightly, trying to pose with his sword in a casually confident way that doesn't quite come together. "Nah," says Deepmind, nodding to a hurrying orcish figure. "I'm covered, thanks." After a few more awkward moments, Deakon takes the hint and slinks back to the guard house. Shortly thereafter, Urk arrives, walking briskly and wiping crumbs from her mouth. "You're late," she casually remarks, pulling her cloak back to reveal her belt full of knives. "URK NEEDED POST-BATTLE CARB LOAD," she explains, looking around distractedly. "JUST US TWO? URK THOUGHT SPARRING FOR EVERYONE. URIST COULD USE POINTERS." Deepmind points to the Rune Sword hanging loosely from Urk's back. "Urist doesn't have a rune-encrusted warblade he doesn't actually know how to use. Which I couldn't help but notice you didn't even draw while we were fighting a two-story dragon." Urk shrugs. "URK DIDN'T NEED TO. URK HAD MAGIC HARD-COUNTER TO DRAGON." "Which Urist could've used just as easily," Deepmind insists. "If you're going to go hogging all the good loot, you're going to learn to use them at least." "URK NOT HOGGING-" she pauses, her hand going to a wondrously-painted shell hanging from a strap off her belt. "...OKAY, MAYBE URK COULD USE REFRESHER COURSE ON SWORDS." Smiling, Deepmind adopts a ready posture, a dagger held in each hand. "Great, because that dragon fight ended too quick for my tastes. Now, let's find out what a War Rune's good for besides rattling around your collection." Deepmind and Urk each lose two stamina. Mark one progress in combat training - maxed out! Can now buy archery, brawling, dueling and military Time passes A) Have celebratory dinner at the Countess Inn B) Confer with Celyse at the Fairfax Manor C) Take it easy at the Library
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Jul 1, 2018 03:52
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Eh, let's rack up some primary quest with B. Between the wedding and the dragon, it keeps getting pushed back despite the rear end in a top hat in the woods.
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Jul 1, 2018 10:03
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Keldulas posted:Eh, let's rack up some primary quest with B. Between the wedding and the dragon, it keeps getting pushed back despite the rear end in a top hat in the woods. Disregarding the primary quest is a proud tradition in RPGs! But yes, it's probably about time we did it.
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Jul 1, 2018 11:27
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We just killed a Dragon people! Better to take it easy
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Jul 1, 2018 12:40
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The house seems quieter than usual, but the serving girl Mathilda greets Athtar and Urist promptly at the door. "Her ladyship is away," she says," but Miss Celyse is in the salon if you'd like to join her." "Lead the way," says Athtar, and the setting sun chases the two adventurer into the manor. The salon's windows were thrown open to minimize the heat of the day, but now a cool breeze begins to flow through them. Celyse sprawls in a large overstuffed chair with a book open on her lap. As Athtar and Urist watch, she turns the page. She doesn't appear to have noticed their presence. Urist politely coughs, and Celyse closes her book with a snap and stands up. "I was about to check on Phillip's studies. If you promise not to distract the child with stories of our adventures, you're welcome to join us." She smiles and crosses to the door. "Or you can wait here, and I'll be back soon." "It would be good to check in on the young gentleman," Urist suggests, and Athtar nods in agreement. The trio depart the salon together. "Time is up. Quill down," calls Celyse as she sweeps into Phillip's studio. Phillip places his quill back into its inkpot and snatches up a rag to wipe his ink-smeared hands. "Yes, your highness," he says with a smile. "I know you haven't forgotten your proper forms of address, young man, so I shall have to assume you are making a joke of some kind," says Celyse as she sits on a stool next to him. "You have had one hour. Tell me about the three noble families of this region as if I were a naive traveler from a distant land." "Hm? Yes?" says Urist, distracted. "Oh, sorry - thought you might've been talking about us." Phillip smiles, then clears his throat and begins to read. "The counties of Dragonholt, Haverford, and Rostum are linked together by shared geography and history. Ruled respectively by the Fairfax, Cunningham, and Belmont families..." Phillip goes on for some time while Athtar steps lightly around to an open book. The text is a genealogy and history of the three families on which Celyse is currently quizzing Phillip, so he reads along with the lesson as Phillip proceeds. Apparently all three families have centuries of history in the region, and they have been united politically and militarily since the reign of Count Aleks Fairfax, when the three counts fought side by side against an undead army. There have been a number of intermarriages between the families over the generations, including the marriage of Phillip's grandfather Lord Holland to a Belmont woman, which the book covers but Phillip does not mention. "And today," says Phillip, the "Cunninghams are well known for their artistic and scholarly pursuits and eccentric behaviors, the Belmonts for their strong martial tradition, and the Fairfaxes for the tolerant and open-minded leadership that has made Dragonholt Village the economic center of the region." "That information, Master Phillip, is not supported by any of the books I gave you," says Celyse. "No," says Phillip. "It's common knowledge. Call it original research your books are old and out of date. I've just written the first chapter of a new one." He grins as Celyse does her best to maintain a tutorial glower. "I suppose time will tell how correct you are," says Celyse. Mark one progress in academic study "I think that's enough study for today," says Phillip. "Don't you?" He tugs at his collar and strides to the closest window, pushing it open. "It's still too hot to think." "That does conclude our lesson," says Celyse with the caution of someone knowing she is walking into a trap. "Oh, good," says Phillip. "Then I think we have plenty of time left for a story." He turns to the visitors with a smile. "And I think we've found a few storytellers." "Oh, very well," says Celyse. "You may have your story." She gestures for Athtar and Urist to take the floor and sits by the window. "Tell me about Nerek-" "But not the Nerekhall story," calls Celyse. "Tell him a different one. And, ah, try to keep it..." she pauses, eyeing Urist. "Appropriate." "My stories are all of the utmost propriety," Urist mutters, casually reaching for a vial in his belt before Athtar nudges him and shakes his head. "Very well, a story... as it happens, I suppose we did just defeat a most terrible dragon on the plains east of here." At this, both Phillip and Celyse perk up. "There were rumors floating up from the village..." says Celyse, her curiosity poorly masked. The pair describe in great detail their battle with the dragon, the heat of its wings, the thunder of its roar. The memories are fresh, and they use the opportunity to sort through them, fixing the story to enure they will get the details right in future retellings. "Weren't you scared?" asks Phillip as Athtar describes riding his horse between the dragon's legs. "I would have been so frightened. But I suppose, if you didn't do that, the dragon would still be out there. And then who knows what might have happened." He leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "Thank you," he says. "Let's all hope that's the last time you risk your life for Dragonholt." Athtar says nothing but unconsciously rubs the spot on his chest Kyric's crossbow bolt had struck him. Phillip chatters excitedly as they finish their tale, bombarding the adventurers with dozens of questions, but Celyse cuts him off. "That's enough, Phillip," she says. "I believe you promised to help in the kitchen today, did you not?" Phillip sighs, and stands up. "I suppose. Thanks for the story," he says, then walks through the salon and down the stairs. The three old friends return to the salon, where Mathilda soon serves tea and oat cakes, and conversation turns toward the three noble families of Phillip's report. Athtar notes the conspicuous absence of their connection to the Belmonts through Phillip's grandfather's wife, and Celyse frowns as though her tea had gone sour. "I expect not," she admits. "Because the lady Mabel Belmont was not his grandmother - but she was mother to Kyric." Time passes A) Go to the dragon statues to meet Grisbeck B) Join the band playing the Drunken Hog C) Take in a quiet evening at the Countess Inn
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Jul 1, 2018 19:17
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Just two more choices in Day Six, then we're on to the last day!
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Jul 2, 2018 22:32
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URK GO ON DATE.
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Jul 2, 2018 22:43
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A light swings through the darkness and becomes a lantern, swaying from the end of a pole. Grisbeck steps into the puddle of golden light and smiles. "Ah," he says. "Ye came." "SORRY IF URK LATE," the orc explains, dusting off her slightly weathered traveling clothes. "URK HAD SPARRING PRACTICE WITH TINY ANGRY CATFOLK FRIEND." "Not ta worry. Come along, I have everythin' prepared." So saying, Grisbeck leads Urk through the slumbering orchard, where the scent of fall is in the air and the fireflies dance, their lights tiny cousins to Grisbeck's swaying lantern. "I love th' night," says Grisbeck. "Th' darkness, th'quiet. 'tis so bright, during th' day, livin' above the ground." His hand brushes Urk's as they walk together. "But 'tis not all bad." Urk holds the dwarf's hand, casually remarking. "URK SOMETIMES GET LOST AT NIGHT. ORCS NOT HAVE GOOD UNDERGROUND VISION, LIKE DWARVES." Grisbeck returns a wry smile. "It's not that we never see the sun in the Dunwarr Mountains, o'course," he explains. "Aye, we live under th' ground, but there be many reasons ta go ta th' surface." He glances up to Urk's honest, relaxed expression and quickly looks away. It's hard to say for sure in the lantern light, but he may be blushing. They cross out of the orchard and into a broad, flat meadow dotted with oak and cedar trees. The sky overhead is clear and limitless, a vault strewn with glimmering stars and the wonders of the heavens. In the center of the meadow lies a table, complete with chairs, awaiting Urk's arrival. A ring of lanterns hung from poles surrounds it, each a twin to the light in Grisbeck's hands. Grisbeck places his lantern to complete the circle, then pusies himself lighting candles on the table. "Come," he says, pulling out Urk's seat. "I wanted ta do somethin' special for ye," he says, uncovering the silver trays on the table to reveal a stunning repast: a summer salad of greens and berries, with just a hint of sweet vinegar for dressing, and goat cheese; a basket of warm, nutty bread, still steaming; a tureen of hearty vegetable stew; an entire roast duck, its skin crisp and golden and speckled with savory herbs; a bottle of some golden -brown liquor that can only be Dunwarr whiskey. Urk stares, dumbfounded. "IT BEAUTIFUL," she declares, overwhelmed by the offerings. "URK ESPECIALLY APPRECIATE THE SEASONAL AVAILABILITY CHALLENGES OF DUCK IN THIS PART OF ALLERFELDT." "Ye're kind ta notice," says Grisbeck with a glow of pride as he serves. "I've always had a knack f'r t' kitchen. Me father, he wanted me ta join th' Warrior's Guild, like him, like his father. Made me train wit' them as a wee lad. Ha," he chuckles, settling into his own chair. "Bit of a surprise for im when th' warriors put me ta work in th' kitchens. Soldiers need to eat too, eh?" The food is amazing, and the pair share a pleasant meal, swapping stories beneath the stars. As the meal winds down, however, Urk finds herself getting quiet, contemplative. She pushes the last scrap of bread around her plate, already scrubbed clean of sauces and soup. Grisbeck notices the drop off in conversation, and pauses to see what Urk has on her mind. After a few more moments' thought, she says "URK NOT REALLY PLAN TO STAY IN DRAGONHOLT LONG." She waves sort of generally, encompassing the town and the countryside. "VILLAGE LIFE... SOMETIMES MINAR COMPLAIN." Urk reconsiders"ACTUALLY ALWAYS MINAR COMPLAIN. MINAR LIKE BIG CITIES, LIKE NEW PLACES. COSMOPOLITAN." The orc smiles with a far off look. "URK LIKE DEEP PLACES. SECRET PLACES. RUINS, DUNGEONS, MAGIC. ALSO FOOD," she adds, popping the scrap of bread into her mouth. Grisbeck chuckles as Urk finishes the last of her meal. "URK ONLY COME TO DRAGONHOLT TO HELP OLD FRIEND. SPIRITS CALL TO URK, SAY GREAT THINGS HAPPENING HERE, WHISPER TO URK ABOUT PACTS AND RITUALS, ABOUT KYRIC - NO SPOILERS THOUGH. ONCE PROBLEM SOLVED, AND SPIRITS SAY GO SOMEWHERE ELSE..." "Will ye join me?" Grisbeck suddenly asks. "T'watch th' stars, I mean." He waves up toward the night's sky, now rich and twinkling. "S'long as ye are here, I expect ye could tell me a thing or two about constellations. We don't have 'em, under th' mountain." Urk stops, craning her neck and focusing on her hearing. Underneath the rustle of the night, the wind and the fireflies and the shaking of tree boughs, she hears the quiet whisper of faraway voices coming from the shell she carries. She hears their echo along the sparse woods dotting the foothills below the Eventide Forest itself, where the singing of the Tree of Tales itself calls in response, until the air seems thick with the song of the spirits, settling on the peaceful sage like a blanket. "SURE," says Urk at length. "URK CAN STAY A LITTLE LONGER, MAYBE." She surreptitiously picks up the bottle of whiskey and a couple cups, and follows Grisbeck up the hill for a better view of the stars. Time passes A) Search the library for information on the Belmonts B) Play with the band at the Drunken Hog C) It's late! Go back to the Swan for sleep and get an early start tomorrow
Dolash fucked around with this message at 03:12 on Jul 3, 2018 |
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Jul 3, 2018 03:10
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A library is the home away from home
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Jul 3, 2018 03:59
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Band time at the Drunken Hog!
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Jul 3, 2018 19:44
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This is the final choice of the day, so much as I would like to play some sick tunes I think we have to go for the plot info. A
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Jul 3, 2018 20:05
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A grey cat lies on top of a shelf in a beam of moonlight. It opens its eyes, stares at Deepmind a moment, then closes them again. The hyrrinx woman keeps looking at the library cat for a few more moments, delicately considering the existential implications of housecats and catfolk. A young, brown-skinned human woman with honey-colored hair, not yet twenty at a guess, comes through the door from one of the library's side rooms carrying a slate and a piece of chalk. "Miss Ainsley," she says. "I've finished." She hands the slate to the librarian, who takes it and reads it, pursuing her lips as if doing so tastes bad. "Hello," says the honey-haired woman to Deepmind. She smiles, her eyes sparkling and open. "My name is Sasha. I've just come to town from Carum's Cross last night to study with Miss Ainsley. Are you from around here?" "Not exactly. I'm Deepmind." "That's an interesting name!" "I like to think so." Deepmind looks around the library. "Have you seen an elf and a dwarf around here? I've been looking all over town for them and somebody said they-" "Oh yes!" says Sasha, clapping her hands together. "Athar and Urist, right? I've been helping them with their work. They've got an extremely interesting problem!" She looks around in an exaggerated, conspiratorial gesture. "I've never worked on a noble intrigue before!" "Well, the first rule is you probably shouldn't be telling people you're working on a 'noble intruige," Deepmind suggests. "You better take me to them." Sasha leads Deepmind back to the library's secluded work room, where all manner of books lie open and scattered around. Urist, sitting in front of a particularly weighty tome and fighting the droop of his eyelids, notices Deepmind enter and snaps awake enough to croak out "Oh, good evening to you." Another weighty tome lowers and Athtar appears behind it, energized compared to his companion's exhaustion. "Deepmind!" he announces. "I'm glad you're here - I think we're finally on to something useful!" "You know Aria's playing the Drunken Hog with some traveling minstrels," says Deepmind. "We were beginning to wonder where you guys'd gotten to. Almost rude to skip a friend's performance." The elf shakes his head, gesturing toward his book. "No time. Urist and I visited the manor today, and Celyse revealed Kyric is Regina's half-brother, that his mother is a lady of a neighbouring noble house. I think we're close to deciphering his true intentions and where Kyric has been getting his support." "I just thought he was some bastard with a bandit clan at his back," says Deepmind with a shrug. "Nobles usurp each other all time." "But why now?" Athtar urges. "Where did he get his supporters? What is he really planning?" Athtar slides his book forward. "The answers are here, I believe." Deepmind walks over to the book in the center of the table. Bound in red leather, its cover is marked with a silver dragon and a black iron dragon circling each other - clearly a version of the noble crest of the lords of Dragonholt. Within it is a formal history of Lady Regina's family, stretching back many generations. The back third or so of the book is blank, but the last few entries detail the reign of Regina's father, Lord Holland, and the beginning of Regina's reign as Countess. Although the author states that Lord Holland was a good ruler and beloved by his subjects, it tells of great struggle in the latter part of his reign. The spirits became angry when a dragon burned part of Eventide Forest, and they punished the county of Dragonholt with a great drought and all manner of misfortune. Monsters roamed unchecked, and the Count of Dragonholt despaired, until his bastard daughter Regina defeated the dragon and saved everyone with "a great feat of magic." Count Holland named Regina his heir, in defiance of custom. The section ends with a note that Countess Regina, in one of her first acts, established a public library in the village, moving the bulk of the family's private collection there. The only mention of Count Holland's other child, his trueborn son Kyric, is the fact of his birth and the death of his mother, a Belmont noblewoman, in the process. "So by common law, Kyric really would be the lord of Dragonholt?" Deepmind wonders. "And would be connected to the Belmonts by blood," Athtar confirms. "The Belmonts, who have a martial tradition and manpower to spare, but a terrible need for gold, and whose taxes have driven many of their people to resettle in Dragonholt county. A county rich with trade and agriculture." He gestures to the book sitting in front of Urist, a copy of one of the books Phillip used in his report. Deepmind smiles. "You're getting cynical. And you're probably right. Okay, I can see where you're going with this," she closes the tome. "What now?" "Now, we-" Whatever Athtar had in mind is interrupted by the sound of snoring coming from Urist, who slumps forward in his chair. The elf smiles at his weary friend, and changes tack. "Now we should turn in for the night and regroup tomorrow morning. I suspect I know what Kyric's next move will be, but the others should weigh in as well before we take action." He rises from the table and hands the history book back to Sasha. "Thank you for your help, Miss. Best of luck in your studies." "Thanks!" says Sasha, who begins gathering the scattered texts and reorganizing them. "Have fun defending the castle!" "Wait, what?" says Deepmind as she helps Athtar haul the sleeping dwarf out of his chair. "I'll explain later." Time passes Mark one progress in academic study Day Six ends Dolash fucked around with this message at 20:12 on Jul 3, 2018 |
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Jul 3, 2018 20:09
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Interlude The bright light of the moon streams down on sleepy Dragonholt, illuminating a lone, wandering figure making their way down the deserted streets toward the Swan. The door creaks open, letting low candle light spill out and reveal Urk, smiling contentedly to herself, ambling into the quiet inn. She pauses on the landing, taking in the common room. Athtar sits sleeping in an overstuffed chair, with Deepmind curled on his lap, purring, in a restful slumber of her own. A few discarded teacups lie around various tables, while Urist and Sapphire sit either side of the teapot engaged in a hushed, whispered conversation. The two look up and give Urk knowing smiles and waves as she ambles past, up the stairs and toward bed. Urk breezes into the shared room and notes Aria's absence. She opens the window to the street below and listens intently - sure enough, she can hear the distant roar of song and dance echoing out of the Drunken Hog, a record-setting performance likely underway. Falling into bed, the orc sage lets the rich food, fine whiskey, distant music and general sense of comfort and ease wash over her. Coming to Dragonholt has started to feel like the best decision of her adventuring career. As sleep begins to set in, she opens her senses one more time to the whisper of the spirits, wondering what else they have in store for her and her companions. The dreams begin, but no singing spirit can be heard. Instead, Urk feels a mounting scream of despair that sends the inviting spirits of the forest fleeing before it. This dread presence on the horizon is still some distance away, but drawing inexorably closer, and before Urk can find her bearings it plunges her into cold, dreamless sleep. The party regains half their maximum stamina
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Jul 3, 2018 22:35
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Sunlight creeps through the ratty curtains in the Drunken Hog's guest room. A shaft of light sweeps up a thin blanket to pester Minar - as most things do, in Dragonholt. He grumbles, shifts, then finally surrenders and sits up. He surveys the damage from last night's afterparty, discarded ale mugs and battered furniture scattered around. The Princeling shifts in bed, disturbing a distinctly un-princelike puddle of drool before beginning to snore again. Minar ignores him and turns his attention to several other figures lying comatose around the room. Recognizing one shape curled up on the rug, he picks up his pillow and with careful aim scores a hit. Aria bolts up in shock, disoriented and annoyed. She traces the projectile's trajectory back to Minar and prepares to yell, before the particulars of their situation come flooding back to her. Shortly thereafter, the hangover begins, and soon the pair are shakily digging for their boots and sundry possessions among the debris of the room. Closing the door behind them as they step into the hall, Aria mutters "My A-string's broken." She holds her violin up for emphasis. "I warned you it was getting worn," Minar mumbles. "Come on, Sapphire'll have breakfast." "I miss coffee," Aria groans as they stagger out of the Drunken Hog's front door. "Ugh, don't remind me." By the time the two make it back to the Swan, morning is in full swing. As predicted, Sapphire had set out breakfast, and the party has already made their start on it, but they are not alone. "There you are," calls Celyse as they enter the common room. She is seated at the party's regular table with what looks like Aria and Minar's share of their regular breakfast, which she and young Phillip have already helped themselves to. Phillip sits beside her with Mal hanging upside down from his lap. Sapphire delivers fresh platters of whipped cream, blueberries, and steaming-hot griddle cakes, which the pair take in the sullen-yet-grateful way of the hungover everywhere. Celyse watches them eat with a smirk while Phillip continues to play with Mal. "We decided to wait for you before doing this officially. Phillip, didn't you want to say something?" asks Celyse. "What? Oh!" says Phillip, placing Mal on the ground and patting him on the head. "Sorry, I was distracted." He turns to the party and smiles. "I wanted to invite you to mother's masquerade ball tonight," he says. "All sorts of people will be there, and I think you'll have a very good time. But you must come masked. It spoils the game otherwise." "Why, that sounds marvelous!" Urist exclaims. "I can hardly wait." "I think that's a yes from us," says Athtar, who gives Minar and Aria slightly pointed looks. "All of us." "I'm so pleased!" says Phillip. Mal reappears and hands him a length of rope, which leads to a mighty tug-of-war struggle as Phillip attempts to maintain the thread of the conversation with the party. "We have this ball every year, to honor the alliance between the three counties. But this year, with Sonia gone, it will be... emotional. I'll be glad to have as many friends there as I can manage." Phillip lifts the rope and Mal with it a grunt, then lets go to send the child crashing to the ground in a pile of giggles. He leans toward you and whispers. "I've been working on my mask for months. It's got a butterfly wing covering half in my face. It's beautiful. I hope you like it." As she stands to go, Celyse leans in and grabs Athtar's arm. "I think it's possible that Kyric will try something at the ball tonight. Regina will have her guards there, but your presence would be more than welcome." Athtar nods. Deepmind, at his elbow, whispers "We've made some progress on that. Don't go changing your plans, but be ready for trouble." Celyse nods back. "I know I can count on you all." Then she slips out of the Swan and into the summer sun beyond. Once the party is alone, Aria looks up from her plate and does her best to pull herself back together. "So, sounds like we missed some things." "A few," says Deepmind with a smile. She gestures toward Urk. "ATHTAR AND URIST FIND OUT KYRIC IS RIGHTFUL HEIR, REGINA ONLY BASTARD HALF-SISTER, MADE HEIR BY FATHER FOR GREAT MAGICS WITH FOREST SPIRITS. KYRIC MOTHER A BELMONT, SHE DIED GIVING BIRTH. BELMONTS ONE OF THREE FAMILIES THAT CONTROL ALLERFELDT. BELMONT LORD HAVE MANY SOLDIERS, BUT NEED MONEY. DRAGONHOLT HAVE, LIKE, THREE SOLDIERS." "One of those soldiers is Deakon," adds Deepmind. "URK NOT EVEN COUNT DEAKON, ONE OF THOSE THREE IS BRAXTON. BUT DRAGONHOLT HAVE MUCH MONEY." She pauses, considering this. "OR, MUCH BEANS, WHICH ARE BASICALLY MONEY TO HUMANS, BECAUSE HUMANS SOMETIMES VERY BORING." Athtar decides to intercede at this point. "It's our conclusion that Kyric is a catspaw of his mother's family, the Belmonts, who have provided him his resources and will back his claim in return for considerations should he rule. With Regina seemingly dying of illness, he needs her surviving children to either back his claim or die before they can inherit to make this legal enough that the Baron won't intervene. And tonight at the masquerade ball, the Belmonts and the neighbouring Cunninghams will be in town and the doors to the manor will be open..." "Devious," gasps Urist. "The perfect time for Kyric to spring his trap!" "PROBABLY," Urk agrees. "So why shouldn't Regina just cancel the masquerade?" asks Minar. He pauses, letting his thoughts turn over slowly. "Are you thinking of using them as bait?" "Basically," says Deepmind with a shrug. Athtar moves to object, but she cuts him off. "To tell you the truth, this is mostly speculation - I don't think Regina's gonna listen if we tell her to cancel the biggest event on the nobility's social calendar over our hunch." "URK PRETTY SURE REGINA NOT EVEN JAIL STABLEMASTER WHO PRETTY OBVIOUSLY MURDERED SONIA." "What we're going to do," continues Deepmind. "Is gather intelligence. Kyric's probably going to strike tonight. Will the Belmonts help him? Can we find evidence linking him to the Belmonts? Where do the Cunninghams stand?" Athtar takes on a grim expression. "And above all, we must protect Rochelle and Phillip. They are the key to all of this - should they die, the county lawfully passes to Kyric, and with another count's recognition there would be no preventing it." "URK THINK URK COULD PROBABLY STOP IT," the orc suggests, as she mops up the last of the breakfast platter. "BUT ALSO WOULD BE GOOD TO SAVE CHILDREN." Minar sighs heavily, dropping his plate back on the table. "Okay, okay. If we're going to go through with this... what's our first step?" A) It's a special market day, see what you can learn from the gossip B) Many of the nobles are staying at the Countess Inn, see what you can learn from them C) Consult Rochelle on defensive preparations at the manor
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Jul 4, 2018 06:58
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Well, we want to do both A and C if we can. B doesn't seem very productive - the good guys don't know anything or they'd have tried to do something about it, and the bad guys won't tell us anything/may later try to have us assassinated. I guess drawing up a list of people to keep an eye on isn't a complete waste but the other two are more useful. It's still early, so we should have time for defence discussions before going to the market (we'll need to buy mask stuff at some point, I assume). C
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Jul 4, 2018 07:35
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C to the defenses
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Jul 4, 2018 13:18
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Black Robe posted:Well, we want to do both A and C if we can. B doesn't seem very productive - the good guys don't know anything or they'd have tried to do something about it, and the bad guys won't tell us anything/may later try to have us assassinated. I guess drawing up a list of people to keep an eye on isn't a complete waste but the other two are more useful. It's still early, so we should have time for defence discussions before going to the market (we'll need to buy mask stuff at some point, I assume). Don't dismiss the value of listening to juicy gossip - the good guys might know all sorts of things that they don't realise are relevant if they don't know what we know to put it all together, and the bad guys might let all sorts of things slip if they think they're in private, or when they think they're being oh-so-subtle about discussing "when a certain prodigal son cuts down the weeds that have overgrown the family garden" or similar. I think it's too early to consult Rochelle yet, so I'm gonna say Market. We need to find out more about our enemy's moves before we can plan our countermeasures.
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Jul 5, 2018 00:42
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There is a great commotion coming from within the manor's hall as Urk and Athtar approach, finding the door hanging ajar. Clearly, the manor's staff is hard at work preparing for tonight's ball. Mathilda, the serving girl, brushes past them carrying a heavy vase. "Miss Celyse is at the library in the village today," she says. "Something about wishing to avoid all the commotion. If you're looking for Dame Braxton, she and Lady Rochelle are in the salle on the second floor." She nods to the staircase to their left and then scurries away. They climb the staircase on the west side of the hall and pass into the salon. They can hear grunting and the clang of metal coming from behind the right door, and passing through it find Braxton and Rochelle locked in mock combat. Both women are wearing thick padded doublets and arming caps and wielding longswords that hopefully are blunted for training. They circle and clash, locking steel against steel and often body against body, parting with a shove and grunt each time. Rochelle, by far the smaller of the two, is also the more aggressive, forcing Braxton to give ground with rapid overhand strikes, then shifting to darting slashes from either side. Braxton knocks each attack aside with quick, subtle movements. Eventually, Rochelle pulls back and then lunges, only to have her sword knocked aside and thrown from her hand with a swift slash against her knuckles. "Margath's breath!" swears Rochelle, clutching at her hand. "I thought I had you." "You didn'," says Braxton. "I baited you, and you took it." Braxton bends down and retrieves Rochelle's sword. "You were trying to keep me off balance. Against a weaker duelist, it might have worked. But I have some experience at this sort of thing." She returns the sword and turns to Athtar and Urk. "Did you need something from me, or from Lady Rochelle?" she asks. "Just 'Rochelle,' please, Dame Braxton." "Then just Braxton, please, Rochelle." "We had come to discuss the masquerade tonight," Athtar begins. "I hope we might discuss security, although..." he takes a critical eye to Rochelle's stance. "If you wouldn't mind, it might also be useful to test your skills myself." "URK WILL SURVEY MANOR DEFENSES IN MEANTIME. URK ONLY LIKE SWORDFIGHTING IF SHE CAN USE MAGIC DEATH SWORD." The orc heads for the door, giving a casual wave over her shoulder. "GO TO TOWN." Rochelle grins and nods toward a rack of mock weapons. Athtar dons some padding, grabs a blunted sword, and steps into the hall with the two women. They start off slow, following the drill circles marked on the floor as Athtar and Rochelle are put through their paces for footwork and guards. The sparring is rigorous, but dispassionate, and Rochelle begins to show frustration. "Enough," she says, lowering her sword. "This is getting me nowhere. Come at me, Braxton." "Don't neglect your fundamentals, Rochelle," chides Braxton, but she settles her arming cap back over her black hair and ties it off under her chin. "I need more than fundamentals to keep Phillip and mother safe," says Rochelle, settling herself into a guard position - one that Braxton had just drilled her on. "Let's begin." Braxton attacks with speed and ferocity, so unlike her usual calm. Rochell meets the attack with grim determination, knocking it aside and holding her ground. Braxton presses her but despite her power can find no opening in Rochelle's guard, until she falls back and calls "Switch!" Athtar steps forward and presses his own attack, which Rochelle deflects as he begins to maneuver around the hall. They trade blows with wordless cries and grunts, but Athtar is never able to gain the upper hand on Rochelle, until Braxton calls "Switch!" again and steps in to replace him. "You're tiring," says Braxton. "You're spending too much effort on your parries and counterblows. A defensive posture relies on shepherding your strength until an opportunity presents to use it." Braxton whirls and knocks aside a thrust, then blocks a high cut and counters with a low slash. Rochelle leaps over her sword, and they slam together with a shout, then come to rest. Braxton's sword lies against Rochelle's collarbone, and Rochelle's hard against Braxton's stomach. Braxton chuckles. "Now we're both dead. You protect your family best alive, my lady." "Let me worry about that," says Rochelle, stepping back. "Switch." Athtar raises his sword and steps in. Athtar loses two stamina At length, Braxton calls a halt and strips out of her training outfit. "That is enough for today, my lady. I must attend to other matters and prepare for the ball." Rochelle bows stiffly, sword at her side. "Thank you, Braxton. I shall practice my forms for a time." "You really should take a break, my lady." "Your opinion is noted," says Rochelle, pacing to the center of her fencing circles. Braxton sighs and leads Athtar and Urk out of the room. "I'm worried about her," she confesses. "She's pushing herself too hard. I only hope she comes out of it before she does herself some sort of injury, or makes a mistake she will regret." Athtar nods in agreement, his expression dour. "If it should come to fighting, she may have just enough skill to put herself in danger. Nevertheless, I have every confidence you can protect your charge." He looks up as Urk joins them on their way out of the hall. "Finished your inspection?" Urk looks the two sweaty combatants up and down, then shrugs. "NOT MUCH FOR URK TO INSPECT, BUT YEAH. ONLY GOOD FORTIFICATION IS OLD STONE ROUNDHOUSE WING, REST OF MANOR JUST FOR SHOW. MAIN BANQUET HALL COMPLETELY EXPOSED, COULD HIDE WHOLE ARMY IN WINDOWS, ALCOVES AND RAFTERS." The elf frowns. "Not very reassuring." Urk grins in response. "URK HATE HIDING BEHIND WALLS ANYWAY. LET'S GO." A) Try the market for useful gossip B) Meet the nobles at the Countess Inn C) Help Grisbeck and Penny prepare for the masquerade at the Bakery
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Jul 5, 2018 03:27
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Off to the market, Deepmind is the only one with a mask so far and I'm sure Aria won't let that rest.
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Jul 5, 2018 23:28
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The market row is full of carts and stalls, bright colors flashing in the breeze. Merchants and customers bustle to and fro. There are stalls offering wool coats and blankets, a leatherworker hard at work on straps and buckles with her wares hanging all around her. A fishmonger shrieks an offer for salted fish, and a traveling butcher pushes past with shanks of red meat dangling from a pole over his shoulder. Stalls groan with mounds of shiny red tomatoes and piles of melons in a variety of bright colors. A merchant wearing a priest's vestments offers bottles and casks of wine, "made by the Poor Brothers of Vynel's Vale." Two cheese merchants side by side each proclaim their cheese is superior. Near the end of the row, a short man in a striped turban extravagantly touts his collection of potions and poultices beneath a sign reading "Al-Emir's Elixirs." "Anything so far?" Deepmind mutters. Aria shakes her head. "The tailors around here are terrible. I'll just have to re-wear Celyse's librarian threads from the wedding." Deepmind rolls her eyes and lets out a small sigh. "I meant anything so far we can use?" "Oh, right!" The bard smiles at her easily teased companion. "No useful gossip about the nobles or the ball, but I did hear a rumor that a certain hyrrinx was caught cuddling a certain elven knight. Any comment?" Deepmind responds by strolling determinedly away, while Aria has the good grace to spare her further needling. As they browse the stalls, a young human man in a crushed velvet half-cape tumbles to the ground in front of them. He springs back to his feet and adjusts his cape carefully. "I'll be expecting an apology, Belmont." "You won't get one, Cunningham," sneers an equally young human woman in a burgundy riding dress with a duelist's sword at her side. "You should have been watching where you were going." Aria glances around for guards, but the only ones are clear at the other end of the market row and not looking in their direction. "Don't think you scare me, Brynn," hisses the Cunningham boy. His own hand drops to the sword at his hip. "I should, Albyrt," retorts the Belmont girl. They're both maybe twenty years old, at best, but it's hard not to see them as spoiled children the way they're carrying on, albeit spoiled children armed with live steel. "What is this about, anyway?" asks Albyrt. "Are you jealous that I'm going to be marrying the Fairfax heir and you're not?" "Ha!" spits Brynn. "Even if I believed you, I'd say 'good riddance' to you both." She puts a hand on her sword. "In fact, I might just say 'good riddance' anyway." Deepmind surreptitiously rests her hands on her knives, but Aria gives her a calming gesture and steps between the two nobles. Aria has persuasion "Hey now," says Aria, her hands raised. "Both your families are guests in Dragonholt for the ball, and it's going to be tough to attend if you murder each other in the street." "You think I care about some stupid ball?" sneers Albyrt, assuming a (rather sloppy) fencer's ready position. Brynn, on the other hand, slams her half-draw sword back into its scabbard. "No, that's a good point. My father won't thank me for making him spend the entire ball apologizing for your death." She smiles sweetly up at the much-taller Albyrt and manages an extremely insouciant curtsy. "My apologies, my lord. The error was entirely mine." Then she sashays off, leaving the Cunningham youth swallowing nervously. "Stars above, I thought I was about to die," he says, deflating like an empty wineskin. "Thank you for that, my friend." He staggers away, looking grey but unharmed. A few nearby merchants show obvious relief and nod gratefully to Aria. "That could have been bad for business," one says. "I'll tell the guards to keep an eye on those two." "It'd be a brave guard that steps between two nobles," Deepmind mutters, before eyeing Aria and adding "or a brave bard." Aria smiles, spreading her open hands disarmingly. "I just have a way with people. I guess the Cunninghams and the Belmonts probably don't get along so great, huh?" Deepmind shakes her head. "Kids get into dumb fights no matter the politics, but... yeah, we might be onto something there. And that bit about Albyrt marrying Rochelle..." she looks off for a moment, chewing on the new intelligence. "We should check in with the others when we can, see what they've learned." Mark one progress in heroism Time passes A) Meet the nobles at the Countess Inn B) Check in on Celyse's hideout at the library C) See how Grisbeck and Penny are doing at the bakery
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Jul 6, 2018 01:30
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Lets check in on Celyse just to super sure everything is ok
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Jul 6, 2018 02:17
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The librarian glances down at Athtar and Minar from her perch, then reaches out one hand and pets the grey tabby cat sleeping on a pile of books at her side. "Celyse is in the archives," she says, nodding to the door behind her. They make their way through the cramped shelves of the archives and find Celyse sat quite comfortably in a leather-padded chair, a book in her lap and more books strew about all around her. "You found me," she says without looking up. "I couldn't abide all the commotion at the manor today, so I'm hiding here." "I don't mind the commotion," says Phillip from the next chair over. He also has a book close at hand, but unlike her he is fairly vibrating in his seat. "I want to help with the decorations." "After your studies are done," scolds Celyse. "You are not making much headway on the Baronies, I see." "Sorry, teacher," sighs Phillip, and he drops his head to his book again. "We didn't mean to interrupt your studies," Athtar explains. "Urk and I were at the manor discussing security arrangements with Braxton, and the maid mentioned you had retreated to the library, so I thought to check in again before tonight's proceedings." "And I tagged Urk out when I heard he was coming to the library," adds Minar. "I'm not really one for commotion either." After a moment, Phillip straightens. "Oh! The mask!" He says. "You said you had that extra mask-" "Quite right," says Celyse. She stands and rummages through her bag, which hangs from a hook over her chair. "Here it is." She turns toward Athtar, revealing a mask fashioned of painted leather to resemble a crescent moon. It looks quite expertly made. "It's part of a matching set, one of which I will be wearing tonight. Phillip thought you might be in need of one for the masquerade." "I am honored," Athtar replies, taking the mask. The party gains the Moon Mask  "I am sorry to say I only have the one," Celyse admits, turning to Minar. "Though of course, plain masks will be provided to guests at the manor door." Minar shrugs. "Makes for a better look anyway, the two elves wearing matching masks. Besides, I'm not the one who took a crossbow bolt to the chest." "Tactful," Athtar remarks with a slight frown. Celyse glances back at Phillip and arches a slender eyebrow. "Eyes on the book, Phillip," she says, and the youth sheepishly drops his puppy-like gaze away from the adventurers. Noticing the heavy tome in the boy's hands, Athtar cocks his head for a better look. "What do you have young Phillip reading today? Would you mind if we took a look?" Phillip happily shifts his chair to make room for their two guests and lays his book out on the table in front of him. "This is The Baronies and the Soulstone Kingdom," he explains. "We're skipping past all the stuff about the Usurper Kings and just reading about the baronies themselves. Right now I'm learning about our own barony, Allerfeldt." Minar and Athtar follow along with Phillip as he describes the general geography of Allerfeldt, mainly grasslands and rolling plains, its rich farmland, and its position to the northwest of Dawnsmoor and southwest of Nerekhall. Its largest city is Highcrest, some two days' ride through Eventide Forest from Dragoholt, and that its rich farmlands help feed the Free Cities and other, less fertile baronies. "This book still thinks that Baroness Tyrese of House Hull rules here," chuckles Phillip. "Wow is it old, I've never even heard of House Hull before." "That is because you have been neglecting your genealogy reading," chides Celyse from her chair. "You would know that House Hull, while extinct in the primary, survives today through the secondary line in the form of what family?" "Uh..." Phillip scratches his chin. "Well, it's probably the same family that sits on the seat in Goldhall now, isn't it?" He glances to Athtar for support as he feels through his answer. "So House Hull survives in Baroness Katrin of House Sephone?" Minar whistles. "Smart kid." "Lucky guess," sniffs Celyse, who turns another page. Mark one progress in academic study Time passes A) Meet the visiting nobles at the Countess Inn B) Try selling the dragon claw at the market C) Check on Grisbeck and Penny at the bakery
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Jul 6, 2018 05:51
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So, Baroness Katrin has a small claim on Allerfeldt, which includes Dragonholt. Does anyone who plays Crusader Kings want to weigh in on what this might mean? In the meantime, I think we ought to meet the nobles at the Countess Inn. After all, we're going to need a new employer after everything goes balls-up here!
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Jul 6, 2018 17:45
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inflatablefish posted:So, Baroness Katrin has a small claim on Allerfeldt, which includes Dragonholt. Does anyone who plays Crusader Kings want to weigh in on what this might mean? A war, at least two assassination plots, upsetting the Pope, your vassals complaining a lot, and having a child with bad traits.
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Jul 6, 2018 18:03
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The Countess Inn seems to have been overtaken by nobles and their retinues, with the usual patrons nowhere to be seen. Ursula still sits at her regular table, but now she is flanked by human nobles on either side. To her left sit the Cunninghams, tall, fair, distractible Lord Oszric and shorter, darker, formidable Lady Elena. To Ursula's right sits Count Leone Belmont, all roundness and bluster and bushy red beard. Various servants, attendants, children, and kin cluster around the room at their own tables, all eyeing the table beneath the painted tree with interest. Urist takes in the scene with polite curiosity, whispering to Aria. "Those aristocrats lunching with Ursula, they must be the guests of honor at Regina's coming masquerade." Aria nods. "If they're the big players in this neck of the woods, we might as well say hello and see what we're dealing with." The carefree bard seems to transform quite suddenly into the picture of poise and manners, accompanying Urist over to the main table. Urusla notes their approach with a friendly smile and broad gesture to her noble guests. "My lords and lady, let me introduce two of the adventurers our Countess has recently engaged - lady Aria of Nerekhall, and Urist of the Dunwarr mountains. The two of them were indispensable in handling that business with the dragon the other day." Aria pulls off a textbook-perfect curtsy, which reminds Urist to bow. The assembled nobles accept their presence, perhaps because Ursula seems to respect them, and the conversation carries on. "Cunninghams..." says Urist, tugging at his beard thoughtfully. "Well-known for your trade relations, am I correct?" "Oh, Elena handles most of that business," drawls Lord Oszric. "Thankfully," says Elena. "We have good relations with Dragonholt. We keep our tariffs low between the counties, and our merchants trade Haverford cheese, leather, and beer for Dragonholt apples, cider, and wool." "And Rostum stone!" puts in Lord Leone. "Yes, your quarry is very nice," says Elena. "When it's running." "Small labor shortage, is all," mutters Leone. "These oafs will tell you that blood oaths and history keep our counties friendly," says Elena. "I say it's trade. Let trade flow and peace will reign." "We all want peace, I'm sure," says Aria in a clipped, diplomatic tone that surprises Urist. "The Belmonts may have a different way of going about it, but I've heard they're no less committed." "We Belmonts have a proud lineage," boasts Lord Leone. "Dating back to the Rose Knight himself, a younger son of one of the Penacor Kings." "But which one he'll never say," sneers Elena. "That's rich, coming from a common-born merchant's daughter," rumbles Leone. "Oh, that's right, I forgot that one's birth is the only thing that matters," says Elena. "Now now," murmurs Oszric. "You're both pretty." Ursula snorts, then covers with a sip of tea. "I believe you were discussing your family's history, my lord?" "Yes. We've been defenders of the realm for generations, always standing firm against the enemies of Terrinoth." He frowns at Elena again. "Some might suggest that order is kept through trade, but in fact it is strength at arms, and the loyalty of those swords, that keeps the peace. And no one is stronger or more loyal than House Belmont." "Commendable," agrees Urist. "Why, it seems the three counties each bring something to the table. The Allerfeldt is lucky to have you." "All three counties have been united for generations," says Ursula. "Since the days of Countess Priscylla Belmont of Rostum," says Lord Leone. "She led the three counties in the defeat of the Raven Horde." "I think you'll find that it was Countess Ygraine's white sorcery that broke the magic of the Raven Priest and saved us all," says Oszric. "I was told that it was Count Aleks Fairfax of Dragonholt who orchestrated the alliance," says Ursula. "Gods save us all from nobles and their pride," groans Elena. "You're a noble now, dear," says her husband. "She's certainly prideful enough," harrumphs Leone. The conversation continues a little longer in this way, the nobles trading polite barbs and extolling the virtues of their Houses until Aria and Urist can excuse themselves and retreat from the proceedings. "Ugggggh, that sucked," groans Aria once they're out of earshot. Urist, perplexed, says "I thought they were all perfectly pleasant." "Sure, if you like arguing about whose great-grandfather offended whose aunt at the tournament of who-cares." Aria sighs and shakes her head. "We should touch base with the others and compare notes. It sounds like the Cunninghams and the Belmonts really don't get along after all." "Which is probably for the best, if our theory about Kyric's patron proves correct," suggests Urist. "Though I still don't see any evidence that the Belmonts have designs on Dragonholt county." "He's not just going to out and tell us, but Leone doesn't seem like the sharpest arrow in the quiver either. Maybe the rest of the guys have turned up something useful." Time passes A) Try selling the dragon claw at the market B) Check up on Penny and Grisbeck at the bakery C) Pre-game the masquerade at the Drunken Hog
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Jul 6, 2018 21:49
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Let's head off to the market then, we got that dragon claw for being nice and thorough and may as well benefit from it.
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Jul 7, 2018 11:44
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The village green is busy with people and animals. A number of horses have put to pasture in the paddock, where they crowd out the usual goats. Servants in the livery of several noble families tend to the horses and scurry about on business. A few small-time merchants have laid out their wares here, doing their best to attract the attention of those on their way to or from the market row proper. A woman in a leather cuirass sewn with iron rings paces back and forth in front of the paddock, a variety of weapos laid out behind her and a sheathed sword resting on her shoulder. She steps in front of a passing merchant and, with a few gestures with her sword, invites him to train with her. The man steps wide around her, scurrying past with a few furtive glances. Deepmind chuckles at the proceedings while taking a spot between two other merchants and spreads out her cloak on the ground, just like the other peddlers. Instead of putting out boxes of handicrafts or herbs, however, she opens her pack and lays out one single item - the heavy claw of the dragon from the day previous. As soon as she shows off the claw, a small crowd gathers, murmuring and gossiping around her trophy. "What's that?" "Dragon claw." "Not a chance; must be a hoax." "It's real!" "I heard a catfolk was part of that party that fought off the dragon yesterday." A voice breaks through the hubbub: "I'll give you one hundred gold coins for it." The crowd parts, revealing a gaunt elf of uncertain gender, leaning on a crooked staff. "One hundred and fifty," says another voice. A tall human man in his middle years steps forward, sweeping a crushed blue velvet half-cape back over his shoulder. "Leave off, Cunningham," says the elf. "You're just going to put it on your trophy rack. I want to actually use it. One hundred seventy-five." "It's called a 'museum'," sniffs Oszric. "Two hundred gold coins." The elf sighs, like wind rustling leaves. "Enough. You humans have more money than sense." The elf stalks away and Cuningham smiles. Deepmind is smiling too. "Oh, but my lord, yu haven't even heard the story of how I got this claw..." Deepmind gains Performance, spending one XP The hyrinnx goes one to spin a grand tale of how she and her friends defeated the dragon, making sure to exaggerate the heat of its fiery breath, the hurricane winds of its tremendous wings, the size and power of its teeth and claws. The crowd follows along with rapt attention, gasping at al the right moments, cheering at the others. When she finishes, proclaiming that an item you purchased yourself at such a dear cost could never be sold, they applaud and look at the claw she holds in her hands with new respect. "Marvelous!" says the count. "Why, now I know just what to write about it in my museum." He clasps his hands together. "I must have it. Three hundred and fifty gold." "Sold," Deepmind announces, handing off the claw for the nobleman's purse in a brisk exchange. The party loses the Dragon Claw The party gains 350 gold Deepmind pauses as the crowd breaks up, holding the purse in her hands. She did do all the work of selling the thing, that's probably worth a commission, right? The party loses 10 gold Leaving the coins in her pocket, Deepmind turns back toward the town. It's getting late, after all, and they'd better start making plans for the masquerade. Time passes A) Pre-game the masquerade at the Drunken Hog B) Check up on Penny and Grisbeck at the bakery C) Regroup at the Swan and plan this out properly
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Jul 7, 2018 19:44
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The day's almost over, and I think that for once we probably ought to do things the sensible way rather than the half-arsed way. Let's regroup and plan.
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Jul 7, 2018 21:31
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Time to go back to the Bakery.
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Jul 7, 2018 21:32
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Tie-breaker?
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Jul 8, 2018 01:21
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Regroup over the pain That's a Bakery vote
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Jul 8, 2018 02:57
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A sign on the door to the bakery reads "Sorry, we're closed" in both the common and Dunwarr scripts. The smell of baking bread still wafts from within the building, however, tickling Urk's nose and encouraging her to linger. Through the glass windows Urk can see Grisbeck, the dwarf baker, and his daughter Penny working on their masks for tonight's ball. One entire table is covered with materials, and both dwarfs are daubed with paint about the face and fingers. Urk taps on the glass, and Penny leaps from her chair to run toward her. She hears her muted shouts echoing through the glass, and then she opens the door and the words catch up to her. "...can't wait until it's finished! Come an' see!" She grabs Urk by the hand and drags her into the bakery. "Dah, look!" she says. "He's makin' his mask too," Penny tells Urk. "But mine will be better." "Always good ta see ye," says Grisbeck from his seat, daubing paint on a mask. "What brings ye here today?" "URK HAD SOME TIME BEFORE BALL BEGINS," explains Urk, trying to seem casual. "URK THOUGHT MAYBE PENNY NEED HELP WITH MASQUERADE MASK?" "I want to make it meself," says Penny, "in proper Dunwarr fashion. But ye c'n sit an' watch, an' if I get ta a difficult bit, I c'n ask ye f'r help then." Grisbeck smiles in her direction, then glances down at his own mask, a simple but elegant affair of white and black checks. "Mine be almost done," he says, "but I feel it be lacking a little something." Urk gains Craftsmanship, spending one XP Urk suggests gold trim for Grisbeck's mask, which he finds most agreeable, then enjoys a sweet roll and glass of milk and honey as he and Penny work. At a few key points Penny gets stuck and asks for her advice, so she supplies key suggestions for how to attach the beak to her owl mask and how best to paint feathers onto its surface. Meanwhile, Penny explains to Urk that her mask is an owl, but it's not Thegn Owl, because she wants to be Thegn Owl's friend. Eventually, both masks are done and looking quite good. Noting the setting sun, Urk rises to make her goodbyes and promises to meet up with them again during the masquerade - but on her way out, takes Grisbeck aside for a quiet word. "LOOK, URK NOT SUGGEST THAT GRISBECK AND PENNY NOT GO TO BALL," she begins, glancing back toward Penny. "BUT URK WILL BE WORKING THERE. COULD BE TROUBLE. IF GRISBECK SEE ANY TROUBLE AT ALL, RUN. LEAVE FOR URK." "Ye don't have t'worry on our account," the baker assures Urk with a smile. "I'm sure, with ye there, we'll get along just fine. An' at the first sign 'o trouble, me'n Penny'll be well clear." Urk returns the smile, clearly relieved. "GOOD. URK DON'T THINK URK EVER BEEN TO MASQUERADE BALL, SO SHOULD BE FUN EVEN IF NO HUGE FIGHT BREAK OUT." She leaves the cozy bakery behind and sets her sights on the Fairfax manor, where the many visitors and residents of Dragonholt are beginning to trickle toward. The setting sun casts the stately home in warm, inviting colors, and if Urk squints she can make out the tiny figures of her companions already awaiting her arrival by the front gate. The pleasant evening ahead is marred somewhat by a cloud of danger. The threat of Kyric and his bandits, sure - but Urk also can't shake the awful premonitions of the night previous, or ignore the spirits' sudden silence radiating out from the manor grounds. Despite her hedging with Grisbeck, she can't shake the sense that whatever confrontation was brewing in Dragonholt is about to come to a head. Time passes Day Seven is over The final quest begins shortly!
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Jul 8, 2018 06:26
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| # ? May 11, 2024 09:04 |
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Interlude Somewhere a bell rings, and music begins to drift through the evening. Villagers and nobles, wearing their finest clothes, emerge from the inns and taverns and homes of the village and begin to stream toward the manor house. Urk comes running up the main drive to join her companions, who loiter just short of the manor grounds. "Cutting it close, huh?" says Deepmind with a touch of reproach. "URK ALWAYS FASHIONABLY LATE," she retorts. Athtar waves it off. "We were just going over the facts one last time before going in." "Not a lot of facts." Minar crosses his arms. "The Belmonts are belligerent assholes with a claim on Dragonholt through Kyric and aren't on great terms with their neighbours, but we don't have any hard evidence that they're backing him." "At least it seems like the Cunninghams aren't on their side," suggests Aria. "So I doubt they'll move openly tonight," concurs Athtar. "Or at least, I doubt Leone will. Kyric might, and if he's foiled then Leone can deny all involvement. He may still be uninvolved, in fact." Urist tries to put all of this together a few times before shrugging. "So... what exactly is our plan for the evening?" "Same as it was this morning, I think," Deepmind admits. "We play it cool, we stay on guard for Kyric, and we jump in if he tries anything against Rochelle or Phillip. Those two are probably the big targets tonight to look out for." Athtar frowns. "Phillip I trust to stay out of trouble, but Rochelle..." he shakes his head. "It will be up to Braxton to watch her back. At least she has a capable bodyguard to depend on." There's a pause as everyone considers the evening ahead. Finally, Urk glances over to Aria. "IS ARIA RE-WEARING SAME DRESS FROM MARIAM'S WEDDING?" Aria lets out an affronted gasp. "I'm like the only one who dressed up at all! You're all wearing the same travel gear you rolled into town with!" Deepmind rolls her eyes. "Okay, I think we're about as ready as we're going to get. Just watch each other's backs in there, Kyric might know enough to target us at this point so don't go walking around alone." Athtar nods in agreement. "Collect what information you can on the three families, and if the spirits are with us then nothing will befall the Fairfaxes tonight." The meeting breaks up and the party begins to trudge toward the front door, but the mention of spirits causes Urk to hesitate. She takes one last moment to tune her senses, probing the dusk sky for a supernatural hint. In the distance, but getting closer, she feels the presence from her dreams - a mounting dread, sending the local spirits to flight. The sensation sends a shiver down her spine, but it's too later to do anything about it now. They're committed. An awning has been erected outside the manor's front door, curtained off to transform the space into a foyer. A human woman in black-and-white livery wearing a black domino mask stands before the door, and she bows to the party as they approach. Aria breezes to the front. "Aria of Nerekhall, party of six." "Welcome," replies the servant, pulling back the curtain, and allowing the adventurers past the threshold of the masquerade.
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Jul 8, 2018 06:54
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